When it Rains, it Pours
by rinkaku
Summary: Russia ponders upon the possible consequences that may arise when America neglects acknowledging the past. He figures, however, that one must regret before one can learn. One-Shot. Russia/America.


**Rating:** T: for safety

**Warnings:** historical context, 19th Century-AU, historical liberties, soft slash, minor angst and fluff.

**A/N:** this is me trying to write for yet another new pairing. I'm also not particularly sure what this is, so, I apologize if my stream-of-thought style seems overbearing. Feedback and criticism is always loved~!

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><p><strong>[ It's better if I can't u n d e r s t a n d ]<strong>

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><p>Ivan stares, openly, intently, at the yellow flora before him. It fascinates him, how the head of it naturally faces away from the high and warm sun; but he admires it nonetheless. His violet eyes curiously flit about the small garden he finds himself in, a fragile smile aimed at a rather hard-working laborer that, in turn, seems to refuse to acknowledge him. Even so, he is unfettered by the reaction- rather, he half-expected it -and merely smiles back down at the yellow flora that seems to be nearly yearning to grow past his shoulders.<p>

"Of all times to come unannounced, you don't even bother to interrupt me in my own home, but my _garden_?"

The Russian starts slightly, his cheeks turning a soft pink when his mind identifies the silky, youthful voice that has just spoken to him. He tries, hard, not to allow his suddenly rapid heartbeat to show through; and although his attempt to hide his blush is in vain, he manages to appear as normal as ever before the American.

However, all sense and possibility at normalcy escapes him when he sets his eyes on the blond.

His violet hues widen at the sight of the American clad in some odd type of blue pants, which fit him rather nicely might Russia add, a soft blue shirt and some high-topped boots. All in all, the attire he sported left the silverette all but culture-shocked- because he really was ever reluctant with even the fashion in Europe, and this in just the novel United States seemed so much more to contain -but he found himself tight-lipped for reasons other than abashment.

The American's top two buttons were undone, so naturally, too, and the edges of his... _pants_, he thought they were, had been rolled up until the very height of his knees. Although the Russian had known that the Sun hit a little stronger and a lot more often here than it did at his place, the casually presented strips of lucidly sun-kissed flesh provided for a lucid example of this.

He shook his head when he caught the blond tilting his head, a confused frown tugging at him, and subsequently, making his own delicate smile falter.

"Are my clothes bothering you?" he slowly questioned, a rather sad lilt to it as he _(hesitantly)_ took a step closer.

Finally training his eyes onto opposing true-blue, the silverette shook his head.

"It's not that, America–"

He was cut-off when the blond spared him a playful look and something bordering a smirk.

"Good, 'cause I don't mean to boast, but these jeans are _boss_." he proudly assured, a sharp grin enforcing it so at the end.

However, Russia found himself enjoying the American's new style for _different_ reasons.

When the blond found that the silverette was still doing nothing but staring, and scrupulously so, it made him fidget and grow irksome under the intent gaze. It was one thing for him to watch his _sunflowers_ with that look, but another entirely different matter for _himself_ to be inspected like that. Hence, America tried easing him off the only way he thought he knew how- by talking.

Finally closing the gap between them, he nervously fingered at the growing petals of the yellow flora before training his gaze on his herded cattle a little ways to their right, and finally mustered the courage to give a playful "Jeez-Louise, it was just a joke. No need to get your back up, Vanya."

And at first, the two had broken into a comfortable silence with smiles, the disturbed look America's servant gave them going unseen as she went to tend the house, wordlessly. They nearly ignored the searing discomfort that had come to pass when they both acknowledged, perhaps intangibly but equally, why it was that Ivan had been rendered only capable of watching Alfred; who, in turn, had been so dumbstruck by his innocent scrutiny to do anything but remain still for it.

- Then, suddenly, they both flushed a ripe red when what the blond had just said finally registered in their minds.

Stumbling back a bit, the American found himself speechless and embarrassed; the Russian watching him, wide-eyed, fairing none the better. Alfred internally groaned, wanting to kick himself for having said it because, well,_ shit, he's only ever called him that in his _head_, and dammit all, why are his palms __**sweating**__? He's never felt so nervous before, so self-conscious, so plainly aware of his surroundings and it's downright _frightening _because so many thing's are clicking in his head and he can't stand them, he doesn't think he can- he knows he shouldn't even be thinking them -but he has been, and for such a long time, too! And, Ivan's still not replying, and he's scared now, because, well, he may be going isolationist and all but-_

"It seems Matvey was lying when he spoke of you." the Russian was swift to interject, a smile on his now placid features that managed to banish all of the spit-fire thoughts from the blond's mind.

"W-what?" he confusedly mumbled, blushing at his lack of coherency and more so when he found that the silverette seemed none to familiar with the idea of "personal space".

"He told me to be wary of a possibly 'land-hungry' America." he slowly began to explain, his smile widening when the blond was quick to catch on. "But, I find no such need for wariness for it."

Alfred finds himself spluttering, peach tinting his cheeks and the tops of his ears that can be seen through the short ends of his silky hair. He can't believe his _brother_ would say that, first of all, but is even more surprised when the Russian abruptly placates his unconsciously trembling hands with a freshly-picked sunflower.

When the American shoots him a confused look, he is responded with yet another smile that makes his knees go weak and his blush remain.

"_Dal'she s glaz, blizhe k serdtsu._" the Russian suddenly tells him, something in what can only be Russian, but is thoroughly incoherent in the blond's ears because it's all a flurry of sounds and speech that he hasn't bothered to learn.

However, he finds himself abashed, for whatever the reason, and gives a quiet, sincere, "T-thanks" under his breath.

The silverette smiles again, and before he knows it Alfred is being amicable to the Russian again; simple talk of how things are going and what has happened taking over. He finds himself pleased with this new slow pace, because he finds that even trying to pass off as a buckaroo is still draining, and it's just plain _nice_ to have someone over who isn't constantly guilt-tripping him over the issue of the "peculiar institution" still allowed in about half his territory and the subsequent conflicts it causes.

Alfred finds himself much too inclined to simply lay his mussed head of blond atop a rarely, lightly-clothed Russian lap; a sincere chuckle escaping him as the silverette looking down at him tells a joke of another inane War that's going on in the Old World. He finds himself actually enjoying the presence of someone, anyone, for once; and it both delights and mollifies him that it's Russia, of all people. Most importantly, however, is that this nuance provides him the comfort of knowing that, even in his time of weakness, there is something he can look forward to.

The mere thought provides him with a relief he hasn't been able to feel since his independence from England.

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><p><strong>[ what you're s a y i n g . ]<strong>

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><p><strong>Translations:<strong>

_"Dal'she s glaz, blizhe k serdtsu."_ - Away from the eye, closer to the heart; absence makes the heart grow fonder.

**Extra Notes: **

1. Russia is culture-shocked, so to speak, because it wasn't until the mid/late-1800s that the American cowboy began to arise. For my benefit, however, let's pretend it's still around 1850's~

2. What Russia says Canada referred to is America and his whole "Manifest Destiny" phase.

3. Peculiar Institution is what some slave-owners called the practice of slavery during the very end of the antebellum era. It was done so in the attempt to remove the negative implications "slavery" gave.

4. A lot of what I have America say is 1800s slang. So, no, don't fret if you thought I was trying to blend in current American slang.


End file.
